"It means something common, vulgar and low down, Curly," says she.
"That wasn't no bouquet, then, was it?" says I. "Well, I didn't think so then, though I never heard it called to nobody in my life. I made it plain, though, to that hired man that he didn't have no chance to break into our house."
"Did he want to come over, Curly?" she ast.
"Crazy to! He wanted to get a look in our ranch room. I told you he was hankering to be a cowpuncher."
"Well, why didn't you bring him over if he was trying to learn things you could teach him?"
"What! Me bring him in our place? I reckon not! Now look here, kid," says I, "you don't half know how good-looking you are."
"I'm not," says she. "I got a freckle right on my nose. It don't come off neither."
"Well, maybe one freckle or so," says I; "but that don't kill off your looks altogether. Let me tell you, when it comes to common people like him talking your name out in public, why, it don't go!" says I. "Besides, another thing"—I went on talking to her right plain. "Look at the money you'll come into sometime! He has got to show me a-plenty what right he had to say you was wonderfully beautiful. You are, kid—but what business was it of his?"
"He has been gone four months and eight days," says she, thoughtful.
"How do you know he has? Do you keep a calendar on folks like him?"